fic; when the night feels my song 2/2
-
there's paparazzi outside.
their camera flashes are bright and their comments are crude, attention grabbing and petty and awful. an average person would cower under it, all the hey wrist slitter! and gay boys! over here! and another man already, styles?, but nick and louis and harry are practiced hands at this.
harry gets louis set in the back seat of nick's car before sliding in the front himself, keeping his head down and his smile bright while nick starts the car.
"forgot how pleasant they are," louis says from the back, voice trying at causal, but in the rearview mirror harry can see how wide his eyes are, how his hands are shaking, and harry doesn't want to think about the things louis must be thinking of right now.
-
louis takes to their house as well as harry expected.
he's stubborn and sour about having to be taken care of, mouth in a drawn up line, brows all furrowed. he argues nick for ten minutes about getting the spare room next to them, wanting to be down in the one next to the kitchen instead-
("what if you're having gross newlywed sex?" louis had whined, itching at his gauze and frowning like a five year old. "i don't want to hear that."
"you can stuff it then, and cover your bloody ears," nick had replied, eyes narrowed.
"nicholas."
"i'm sorry harry but if this little brat thinks-")
-but eventually had shut his mouth when harry had raised his voice over the two of them and told them to go down and watch some footie or something while he made dinner.
louis eats half his potatoes and two pieces of broccoli before he claims his stomach is full and he'd like to be excused, mum and dad, if that's alright with you.
"actually," harry says then, and feels like a proper mum when he cuts his roast beef into three bites before popping them in his mouth. "nick and i thought we'd have a sleepover in the living room with you, catch up and all that."
the look nick sends harry is mutinous, but harry can't be bothered because he can't let louis wander off and hang himself in the middle of the night. he just won't allow it.
"a sleepover in the living room." when louis says it it just sounds stupid. harry's nose scrunches up involuntarily. "are you sure i'm the one that's been living off drugs for five years, styles?"
"you don't really have a say in it, to be perfectly honest," harry snarks back because he's no stranger to louis' wit, and being with nick grimshaw for the past couple of years has taught him a thing or two about comebacks. "so go get into your jammies and be down here in two minutes or nick will come get you and he might actually strangle you."
"one can only wish," louis sighs, winking, and takes off to the stairs, bare feet barely making a sound across the hardwood floors.
harry waits until he's at the top before he stands up, bringing his plate with him. "nicholas, you couldn't be a dear and go-"
"when the hell did we decide on this, darling?" nick spits out between his teeth, standing up to follow suit with his plate. "a pow wow in the fucking living room?"
"i think it'll be fun."
"and i think you're fucking crazy, pop star." nick follows him to the kitchen, dropping the plate into the empty sink and leaning against a counter. "this isn't some bonding experience you read about online, is it?"
"no, this one came from zayn," harry turns the tap on, lets the water pour for a bit, before shifting his head up to meet nick's eyes. they're a rather startling blue. he tells him so.
"stop complimenting my features and explain why we're taking advice from a twenty something year old model?" nick's got his bitch face on and harry knows he really needs to stop it in its tracks before nick actually murders louis.
or louis murders nick.
regardless of the exact outcome it would make an awful night for harry.
"look, i'll go get him, and then we can eat those jam cookies you like and watch your old favourite episodes of the great british bakeoff and you'll be fine and i'll be fine and louis will be fine. okay?"
nick frowns for a second before he shrugs a little with his thin shoulders, sighing.
"fine," he huffs, scratching his arm idly. "but i'm not going to be happy about it."
"love you," harry grins bright, leaning forward to press a warm kiss against nick's mouth, pulling away only when he remembers how long louis' been by himself. "can you go get the old leeds sleeping bags from wherever they went? i feel like they might be in the shed outside."
"1950's housewife," nick snarls under his breath before leaning in to kiss at harry's lips once more before taking off to the back door.
when harry finds louis upstairs he's in a pair of nick's old pajamas, shifting through a box of stuff at the end of the bed.
"worried i was dead in the bath?" louis asks without raising his head, flipping through a scrapbook nick's mother had made of nick's thirtieth birthday.
"i just wanted to make sure you found the room alright," harry says carefully, leaning against the wall right next to the wall, eyes on louis. "such a big house."
"huge," louis replies in an even voice, gliding his thumb over one of the pictures in the book. "is that greg james in a banana suit?"
"yeah, man, i remember that," harry laughs at the memory. "he was just lying on the ground at one point, grabbing people's ankles and yelling something about banana peels when they slipped."
"haven't seen him in years," louis looks up then, catching harry's eye with a sad look. "i don't even know if he's married or single or whatever."
"engaged, i think," harry smiles when louis smiles.
"right," louis looks down again and harry catches just a glimpse of the corner of his favourite photo in the book, himself and nick all wrapped up in each other, covered in cake and laughing and kissing, before the book shuts and louis glances up at him expectantly.
"the pow wow in the living room?" he asks and harry sighs a bit but grins, pushing the door open so he can follow louis down.
-
everything's fine.
they sleep together in the living room, all strewn over their big couch. nick grumbles a lot and complains about achy bones and louis talks about beautiful spanish people he met and the times he remembers with them. they fall asleep just past eleven, but harry stays up practically all night, eyes on louis' back to make sure nothing happens. and then they let louis have his own room. and it's okay.
he doesn't shoot himself in the middle of the night or hang himself after lunch.
instead he comes down for breakfast and eats quickly while harry mutters about news stories and they try and catch the end of nick's show. then they watch some telly or go shopping together or louis reads some old books while harry sends emails to people and everything feels really normal.
harry's waiting for it though. he's waiting for the relapse, for the shaking, the screaming, the night terrors and shrill yells that all the books say will happen - that the doctor had warned him about before they took louis home.
it's only been a couple days. he waits.
-
harry drags louis, kicking and screaming, to his first therapy session.
the psychologist is young and seems nice, long brown hair and intelligent eyes. she's dreadfully funny when they go over paperwork and harry feels okay by the time that he has to leave louis, letting him out of his sight for the first time in a few weeks.
he waits outside the office for an hour, reading the two magazines in the waiting room, a special edition of easyknits and the psychology journal. it's a little awful, and he has to take a photo with the receptionist at the front (who was at one of their x factor tour dates back when she was thirteen, and god he feels old), so by the time louis comes out he's pretty happy to go home.
louis' got tear tracks slicing through his sharp cheekbones, and he rubs at them when harry stands, sniffing a bit.
"you ready to go?" harry asks in the most slow, soothing voice he can muster when all he really wants to say is are you okay are you okay are you okay.
"sure," louis croaks out, eyes darting around the room. his hands are shaking a little, one arm around his middle, but when his eyes meet harry all he sees is the tired in them.
harry smiles at the receptionist on the way out.
-
that night harry awakes to the sound of outright sobbing from the other side of the wall.
he startles up into a sitting position, barely flicking the sheets off his legs before he jumps his way off the bed, bare feet hitting the cold hardwood. he searches for pants in a half blind way, his eyes are barely open and the clock on his bedside says 2:16, and he's already out the door when he finds them, hopping once to slide them over his skinny hips before taking pushing the door to his bedroom open.
when he gets into louis' room it's to find louis shaking in nick's arms, sobbing uncontrollably, small hands clutched tight round him.
"you're okay, love," nick runs a hand through louis hair, petting it down and then up again. "you're okay."
louis inhales loudly, wetly, from nick's shoulder, his own shoulders rising and falling rapidly. his nails leave marks down nick's back but nick hasn't even noticed, too busy trying to lower his heartrate, calm him down.
"jesus," harry doesn't realize he's slowly walking into louis' room until he's right at the bedside table. "nick?"
"i heard him a couple minutes ago," nick says quietly, soothing his hand down louis' back. louis hasn't acknowledged harry's arrival, his breaths still heaving from his body. "didn't want to wake you."
"it's fine," harry's hands are shaking. shaking as hard as louis' body. "it's - that's fine. i don't. it's fine."
nick looks up at him then, eyes tired and bleary but still beautiful and sad and empathetic. harry sits down at that, on louis other side, and smoothes his hand down louis' back, rubbing up and down on his sides just like he knows louis always used to love.
"harry?" his voice is thick with tears and shaking. "harry?"
"yeah, lou?" he doesn't know what to do. he doesn't know what to do and that's scary.
"my stomach hurts," he sounds so young. "my stomach hurts so much, harry."
"i know, love." harry remembers once on x factor when louis had gotten food poisoning and was just laying next to the toilet, sad and helpless and smelling like sick, and the entire house just felt like a death trap because louis' emotions were projected onto everyone and everything. when louis broke everything broke.
"and in my dream you were dead and it was awful and my stomach hurts, harry."
nick shushes him gently and clutches him a bit tighter, louis' small body almost comical against his tall frame. "you're alright, darling. we've got you."
harry nods and gently tucks his arms around louis' middle from behind, sandwiching him between them, and hums you are my sunshine until he falls back asleep.
-
"his eyes are dead," nick says one day while harry's separating the crutons from the rest of his caesar salad. they're at the quaint restaurant they both love so much, the one with the soft music and the big mugs and the table they held hands over in public for the first time.
louis' at his first appointment with some support group thing, at the hospital, and it's one of the first times all week that harry feels like he can breathe.
"his eyes are fine." harry's spent quite a lot of his life lying about louis. he isn't about to stop now.
"harry."
"nicholas."
"harry," nick picks up a chip with two long fingers and brandishes it at harry like a wand or a baton or something. "louis' not okay. and i don't think you and i are equipped to deal with what he's been through. i mean, i've seen a couple friends but-"
"well, we don't really have a choice do we?" harry stabs viciously at a piece of lettuce and pops it into his mouth. "he's not got anyone else."
"what about his family?"
"jay's still has three daughters at home, she's got enough to worry about there," harry calls her on the first sunday of every month to keep up with everything. she's always been so good to him. "and lottie's in america, you can't expect her to-"
"liam?" nick's not looking at him anymore, just scrubbing a hand through his hair while he pushes around the pasta on his plate. he looks tired.
"li gave up on him years ago, nick, you know that." it was after one too many fights, one too many sharp comments, one too many times liam had walked in on louis and a line of coke. "zayn's in france with the modeling thing and it's all going so well for him, and last i heard from niall he was producing in ireland and stan's teaching in japan-"
"he isn't our job, harry." nick's voice is still low because they're in a restaurant and they're practiced in this, they know how to fight while looking like everything's fucking peachy, because people still care about them. people still think their relationship is newsworthy.
"he isn't our job or he's messing up the honeymoon period you had in mind when we moved in together?" harry snarks back, and three years ago such a tone would have scared him, but harry's found out the hard way that it's impossible to be easy-going in a world that just takes and takes and gives nothing back.
"so dramatic, you pop stars," nick says half-serious, half-mocking and it pisses harry off for about six seconds until he realizes that nick's right: a honeymoon period would have been wonderful.
he imagines it for a second; waking up at noon, limbs all tangled around nick's. maybe having a hot shower, maybe making some pancakes, maybe fucking in bed until they're so strung out and tired they can't anymore. getting lunch at the café round the corner, or perhaps taking the train out to holmes chapel, or going antique shopping in camden, or seeing a show with pixie, or walking around and kissing in front of old, scandalized women with narrowed eyes.
it's all so lovely to think about.
but then this picture - louis alone in some big, empty house in the middle of a city full of strangers, strewn across a bed stoned out of his mind - comes to harry. and the image is just helpless, so desperate, so reminiscent of every mistake harry's ever made in regards to louis, that harry's stomach coils into knots.
"he's staying," harry says in a hard voice, eyes catching nick's and nodding. "he's staying and we're going to make him better again."
"put the pieces back together," nick replies in a dry voice, but there's a familiar gleam in his eyes, one that he wore that day, years ago, back when he'd gone from night time to breakfast show, and harry had made a joke and nick had laughed and god, he was only eighteen, but even then he knew that nick grimshaw was better than any fame or wealth would ever be.
"damn right we are," and when nick snorts and reaches for his hand over the table, harry can't do anything but grin.
-
louis goes to the meetings and takes sleeping pills at night (cut in half by harry with a kitchen knife because the last thing they need right now is another addiction) and argues with nick over watching football. he eats very little and smiles even less but he's nice and sharp and sometimes he's so selfless it's like watching the old louis appear before their very eyes.
nick's busy like mad at the radio and with his friends and meeting people and all that, and it's nice for harry to take a break from all that and sit at home reading some days.
harry and louis go to a museum one afternoon while nick's drawing up plans with fincham. even though they're technically there for the display on the terracotta warriors, harry spends most of the day trying not to grin when louis smiles softly down at school children running by, watching two little girls poke at some ancient bowl with a sad, fond little smile on his face.
louis' spent so many years ignoring the world that they've got to tread lightly around him. his stomach still aches through the day and he's still got dead eyes. his face doesn't frown or smile, just stays still most of the time, but the doctors say that it's normal, his condition, and that they're only lucky louis had never got hooked on heroin.
it's hard.
it's so hard to take care of him and harry doesn't know how louis did it all those years - constantly being happy and bright smiled, telling jokes and poking fun.
just past a week and harry already feels like he's going to break.
-
"you promise he's doing better?" jay asks down the phone one sunday afternoon while nick sits on the counter in the loo and talks to louis while he's showering-
(a couple days before harry had gone in while louis was showering to look for bandage and found louis standing half naked at the sink, looking down at a razor perched innocently in his hand. after a hysterical bit of crying from harry, and nearly an hour of nick curling his fists so he wouldn't try and punch louis in the face, and actual louis just clutching his stomach and apologizing over and over with the worst look on his face - well, after all that they'd agreed on some rules)
-and harry's in the kitchen, checking on the yorkshire pies in the oven because everyone's coming over for sunday brunch at theirs in an hour or so.
"he's doing better, i swear." harry tries to lie as little to jay as possible, but he also knows that if the tables were turned louis would lie his arse off to anne to make sure she wasn't worrying. "he misses you and the girls a lot, of course."
"we wish we could get down there," jay has a slightly hysterical edge to her voice and harry has to bite his lip before he says you've told me this ten times, i get it. "it's just with roger starting his new job, and the girls still in school, and they haven't seen him in so long, and i know he'd want to look his best for them, and the last time he stopped by we both said some things we regret and i'm not sure-"
she cries then, quiet little tears, so unlike the sobs the wrack louis' body when the night terrors come.
"oh jay," he slips the roast beef into the second stove, moving the peas back on the farthest element and tries to remember if lux hates scalloped or mashed potatoes. "he'll be ready soon to see you. he's been missing you a lot, i know."
"right," she seems to compose herself and harry can hear the sounds of a whistling kettle in the background and daisy's yelling about something. "i'll be ready too, very soon."
"well, we'd be happy to have you over when you do," harry says, a smile stretching across his face. "and try and get that daughter of yours to get back from living it up in new york, would you? i miss her."
jay laughs then, and harry shifts the phone to his other shoulder so he can cut up peppers for the salad. she sighs a bit, "i can't thank you enough for taking him harry."
"don't worry about it," harry pleads because he's gotten used to compliments about his face and his hair and his voice over the years, but it always kills him when he gets praise for just being himself. "honestly, he'd do the same. hell, he did do the same. i'm just paying back the favour."
"well, at any rate, i've never been more happy that you two found each other," jay says and harry grins a bit because he can remember vividly the first day he met her, when she opened up her arms and said, welcome into the family darling! can i get you some tea?
"the pies are burning, so i have to let you go," harry says, turning down the oven with one hand while the other presses his phone to his ear. "but let me know when you can get down here and nick'll put fresh sheets on all the guest beds."
"i will!" her voice turns back to normal then, all motherly and fond and a little stressed out. "you let your mother know i have tickets to that jls concert in manchester, would you?"
"sure thing," harry stirs the gravy on the stove top.
"love you harry."
"love you."
-
louis looks kind of terrified and overwhelmed by everyone but also kind of sort of really happy.
"louis tomlinson!" greg yells as soon as he's through the door, barreling over to tackle louis' small body in a giant hug. "where have you been all my life?"
within minutes greg has louis smiling and chuckling just a little, and harry asks nick if greg james is an actual real human. nick just shakes his head and kisses at harry's nose.
pixie and alexa and aimee all get there together a little while later, laden down with antique shopping and bottles of fancy wine. they all fiddle around the kitchen in their nice sweaters and thick tights, and aimee gives louis a big hug which louis returns slowly.
caroline and olly come in just before they've all sat round the table, holding hands and smiling like they have for only a couple years now. harry kisses her cheek and together they get the roast out of the oven, because no matter how much they've been through together caroline is still one of his favourite people ever.
by the time they get all the dinner set and everything prepped up, pixie and aimee are two glasses into the bottle of wine, and nick's chatting to greg about justin bieber's new album (a conversation harry steers clear of because he's heard nick's thoughts on it a million time already) while a overwhelmed louis listens to olly summarize the last five years of his life.
tom and lou are late, as per usual, but it doesn't even matter because everything's so warm inside the house and louis' had two slices of bread with his roast and nick's holding his hand under the table.
louis is just trailing after harry with the empty gravy boat to get some more when the doorbell rings, so they both go to answer it.
"you okay?" harry asks before he pulls it open, meeting louis' eyes hesitantly.
"just-" louis tries out a smile and it looks okay on his face. a little harsh, but not as strange as it would have a couple days ago. "just a lot to take in."
harry nods then, opening the door to lou and tom's tired faces and a very excited seven-going-on-eight year old bouncing on her toes.
"jesus christ it's louis tomlinson," lou says with a big grin, pushing past harry to throw her arms around louis' neck. "god i've missed you, darling."
"missed you too," louis says, muffled into her shoulder.
harry gets a little ridiculously teary-eyed at that, but shakes himself to pull tom into a hug, flicking his eyes to check out the new tat on his collarbone.
"uncle harry!" lux shouts up at him, bouncing around on her little light up shoes. her hair's up in classic little bows and she's got her little glasses on and harry just loves her so much.
"my goodness, you've grown since i last saw you!" harry exclaims, bending down to press his face into her soft hair and hug his arms around her little middle. "an entire foot i say."
"we're reading a book at school and the boy in the story has the same name as you," she tells him, all big eyes and missing teeth, and harry lets himself gasp, a smile unwillingly gracing his face when she looks up at him so delighted.
"how dare someone else take my name?" harry says, shaking his head and helping lux out of her thick coat. he hears the calls that greet lou when she enters the dining room, tom following her through. "bet he's not as great as i am anyways."
"he's a wizard," she says smartly. then - "who's that?"
harry looks over to see louis watching both of them in an unreadable way, biting his lip so hard it looks like it could bleed any second.
he goes to open his mouth and introduce him, but then louis' walking forward and kneeling down next to lux, movements slow and cautious and sad.
"hi," he says in a bright voice, a smile lighting up his face. he sticks out his hand. "i'm louis. it's nice to meet you."
-
that night, after they've argued over x factor and cleaned away the dishes and everyone went home, harry gets a call.
it's about three in the fucking morning according to his phone and he has to blink the sleep out of his eyes, but if there's anything harry's learnt these past couple of days it's to pick up the fucking phone when it's ringing at what the fuck in the morning.
"hello?" he asks groggily, prepared for the worst. he's already wrestling himself out of bed, taking care not to wake nick.
there's just ragged breathing on the other line, and harry's heart stops.
he pauses a second, and then runs to throw on some jeans and a t-shirt, pulling on a jumper.
"louis?" he whispers. "louis is that you?"
a sob comes from the other end.
"louis, i'm not mad at you, i swear." harry takes down the stairs two at a time, heart pounding, head soaring, eyes open wide now. "i'm not mad, just tell me where you are. tell me where you are and that you're safe."
more breathing and then, "harry?"
"yeah louis," he picks up a pair of nick's shoes, sliding them onto his feet easily, and grabbing his car keys from where they're lying in this nice owl bowl that henry bought them ages ago. "i'm here. right here. where are you?"
"harry, i'm so sorry."
"don't be sorry, just tell me where you are."
"i-" louis breathes in sharp and harry hears the sound of a honk in the distance. "i'm. i'm so sorry."
"louis," he refrains from breaking his mobile in two just barely. "tell me where you are so i can come and get you and everything will be fine."
"waterloo bridge," he whispers.
-
louis' sat crouched against the barrier when harry finds him, cheeks wet but eyes dry, shaking in the cold wind.
harry sits down next to him immediately, putting his arm around louis' cold neck and his cold waist and shuffling louis' cold face into his neck. he breathes into his hair and rubs over his back and prays that everything, everything, was going to be alright.
"i'm so sorry," louis starts, voice broken, smashed, stepped on like shattered glass. "i'm so sorry, harry."
"don't be sorry," harry says back, gentle and quiet in louis' ear. he smoothes his hand down louis' back and lets his fingers count his ribs, less sharp than they were a week ago. "don't ever be sorry louis, okay?"
they sit like that for the better part of an hour. harry's arms go sore holding him but he doesn't dare let go.
-
they lie on the bed together.
it's quiet.
aiden's first album is playing so slowly in the background, sweet and pretty and graceful, coming from the old stereo in their kitchen. maybe it's the song with the gorgeous piano intro or maybe it's the one with the random rapping bit or maybe it's the one that harry had drunkenly yelled at him when they'd bumped into each on the street out of the blue, ages ago.
it doesn't matter what song it is, though.
either way harry's fingers are aching from where they've been rhythmically stroking the soft strands of hair behind louis' ear for two hours. his shirt is wet with tears and regret and heartbreak.
"i was so jealous of you," louis says half into the blanket, half into harry's chest.
"why?" he hasn't talked in awhile. his voice is coarse, rough, dragging and pinching like sand paper.
"please," louis curls a hand into the end of his shirt, nails scratching at his stomach a little. "charming as fuck, the one with the cool boyfriend and the pass into every club in town. everyone knew you'd be the only one to be something when everything fell apart. and you did, and i'm so proud of you for that haz, honestly, i am. i bought your first album the day it came out, i swear."
"louis," harry wants to say so many things, about how louis could have done the same, could have been a solo artist in a heartbeat, that he was good enough, talented enough for anything and everything, but he knows now isn't time to say that.
"i was proud, and excited for you, you know. and i just thought about how everyone expected that, how'd you'd be the justin timberlake and have the hot wife and win grammys for writing soundtracks to fucking disney films, all that shit. and then i was like, 'well what do they expect out of me?' and i couldn't think of a bloody thing. except that i'd be coming out of the closet in some big story everyone expected."
louis sighs then, curls closer to harry like he's flaunting it, like he's finally saying fuck you i'm going to act as gay as i want to and you don't get to say a fucking word.
"but then you came out. you came out and said you liked blokes too, that you liked one bloke in particular, and i was so proud of you harry. honestly. i know i didn't seem like i was, but i was."
harry remembers it well; when he'd just done one of those bullshit tell-alls to a newspaper and the half the girls around the world were either screaming i knew it or that's disgusting, and everyone was calling him a slut, and his twitter feed was just a mess, and nick kept giving him these never ending hugs where he'd just hold on and whisper "proud of you, pop star" in his ear, and -
and louis was too busy getting high off coke in the back booth of some skanky club with people who all wanted a piece of him to say a simple congrats.
"and everything was bubbling and there was so much fucking pressure and everyone was looking at me like i wasn't good enough for you, like nick was my replacement and i couldn't - i don't know. i just. i stopped caring." louis looks at him then, eyes all wet and god, harry's never seen something so sad in his life. "i'd like to blame it all on my thin as paper self esteem or my adequate singing voice or that i was still in love with you, but it wasn't that harry. i. i don't have a reason. i just. i-"
"louis, you don't have to-"
"i wanted to feel something," louis dips his eyes down, eyelashes wet and long and just as gorgeous as they ever were. "i wanted to feel something so i took stuff until it didn't work anymore. and then i just didn't want to feel anything, ever again. i wanted to be gone."
it's quiet then, the kind of quiet that simmers and burns everything it touches.
"i've missed so much," louis breathes out. "i've missed my sisters growing up and my mum getting remarried and you, harry, i've missed you so much."
"oh louis," harry whispers then, because what is there left to say? he tightens his arms around louis, and there's a lot less than there used to be to him (and he never was very big) but he holds on as tight as he can and promises to never, ever lose louis again.
-
things are better after that.
not perfect.
not seamless.
but better.
-
there's laughter coming from the kitchen.
harry sighs.
the alarm clock next to his head is glaring red in the dark, 3:24 in the goddamn morning. he sighs again. harry briefly wonders where the excited teenager in him went to, the one that was ready for a party or a flight or a tumble around with a close friend at a moment's notice. he grumbles out of bed, shaking his hair out and slipping a pair of discarded pants onto his skinny hips.
there's something that sounds suspiciously like the haunted man coming from the kitchen, and harry has a quick flashback of being nineteen and stoned and snogging nick in between impromptu renditions of laura (where nick would change laura to harry and croon into his neck).
it's warm in the kitchen.
louis' up on the counter, dangling his legs out against the cupboard like a small child, and he's not really grinning, but it's close so harry counts it as a win regardless. nick's at the microwave with a bag of marshmallows, and there are graham crackers scattered across the kitchen table, and what looks like a bag of chocolate chips in louis' hands.
"what the hell are you two doing?" harry drearily asks. he hasn't been up at three in the morning so much since he was eighteen.
"making s'mores!" nick shouts excitedly over the music. he's got a smudge of chocolate under his chin and he looks so, so tired, and he's got to go to the radio in a couple hours, but he also looks happy.
louis drops off the counter and rushes to harry, eyes a little bright and smile a little glowing. he looks gorgeous.
"come on, haz, try one!" they're like a pair of five year olds together. "they're delicious, i promise."
harry huffs but lets himself be dragged over to the microwave. he doesn't know how they found themselves here - if they both wanted a snack at the same time, or if nick had run out of ways to distract louis from his nightmares - but he finds himself not really giving a shit all the same.
"okay, okay," he sighs, winking at nick. "my boys working together - should document this, we should."
"oh hush and have the s'more," nick says, pushing the sandwich into harry's mouth rudely.
he tries to bite around it but it's hard to, and he glares at nick while louis pokes his face.
"can you pass me my tea, please?" louis asks while harry's willing the saliva in his mouth to turn the cracker in his mouth to chewable material.
he sticks his hand out to get it from nick, and harry has half a second to take in the thick scars over louis' wrists.
they're grotesque and hard to look at, just like the day he first got them.
and then they're gone, louis pulling his hand back to sip at his tea - one milk, no sugar - and smile at harry over the mug. nick throws an arm around his waist and louis pinches his cheek and harry -
harry thanks whoever and whatever gave him such a blessed life.
-
it’s just - louis used to be it for him.
for a year and a half harry lived and breathed louis. women (and men) came and went, long twisted hair under his fingers and long legs trapped around his - but louis would forever be his best friend, his other half, his better half.
and then, somewhere between australia and the headling american tour they lost it.
and louis wasn’t it for him anymore.
somewhere along the line they lost the spark, the jolt, the little pinprick that made them who they were to each other. and it hurt - it really hurt to admit that; to see louis distance himself, to move away from their flat, to only get together when it was for work, when it was all of them, when it was required.
watching louis in the kitchen with nick now though, filling his mouth with chocolate and marshmallows and graham crackers, laughter clinging to the cracks in his eyes; harry thinks maybe they’re finally getting back what they lost.
slowly, but surely, it's coming back to them.